Tell Me Why
by Hiding.in.the.cookie.jar
Summary: "...The best he could do was pull the younger man into an embrace. He could feel hot tears on his neck as Holmes let out the emotional pain he had been trying so hard to keep locked up."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For Master of all Imagination, she came up with the idea. Welcome back to the internet and I hope you like this, love. :D**

May 10th, 1889

There are many reasons as to why a person wakes up in the morning. Whether it's from an unpleasant dream or the pleasant song of a bird, the human body will always come back to the living - where it belongs. On this particular day of May, Dr. John Watson woke to the sound of a light drizzle hitting his bedroom window. The raindrops shone like little diamonds as the early morning sun hit them at just the right angle; the green leaves were the most appealing of all colors, matching the grass as well as a woman could ever coordinate her clothing. And the Sun. Ah, the sun was just above the horizon making everything around it light with life; it had just the right amount of joy, excitement, and calmness in one ray of perfection. Pleasant enough, eh?

If only Holmes could have been able to take in the beauty, instead of sulking. Watson was expecting to see his fellow flat-mate fully dressed with his combed as usual, not the complete mess he was. Holmes was ensconced in his armchair; his hair was sticking up in all directions. He was still in his nightgown; a pipe stuck out between his lips, and dark circles rested under his eyes.

"Good morning, Holmes," Watson greeted, venturing into the smoke filled sitting room.

Holmes responded with a sort of noise. With a sigh, Watson moved to open a window, letting in a few drops of rain. There was no reaction from Holmes except an annoyed sigh and a slight shift in his seat. After that he refused to acknowledge his friend's existence farther more; no eye contact was made and he ignored all of Watson's comments. He tried to make a conversation about anything from the beautiful weather to crimes. And still nothing.

"Did I do something?" Watson asked bitterly, awaiting a response and receiving none.

"Holmes, why are you being so childish - and today of all days!" Watson nearly yelled.

"Why can't you just leave me be?" he stood up quickly, disturbing his chair. "I believed that you were used to my habits but it seems as though you're just as dim-witted as the inspectors at the Yard! Try observing something instead of me having to point it out to you for a change! I'm tired of having to tell you and every other person in this city what is going on and then acting amazed when I say it – No! Let me finish, if you are all so amazed at my knowledge then why don't I deserve a day when I am left alone? Does that seem reasonable or do I have to explain that too?"

And he locked himself in his bedroom.

It was several hours before Holmes emerged from his dark shelter (finally dressed and presentable looking). He quietly resumed his seat across from Watson, trying not to let the doctor see the pain in his eyes.

"I apologize for earlier," Watson finally spoke up after a few seconds of silence that added to the tense atmosphere.

"It wasn't your fault," Watson was slightly confused by his unusual behavior.

"Yes, it is, I shouldn't have been crossed with you for being in a bad mood."

"That's hardly your fault; it's a reasonable reaction."

"Holmes, are you feeling well?" Watson asked, concerned masking his voice.

"I'm fine; I just didn't sleep well last night… Watson I think I'm going to go out for a walk, I wish for some time alone."

"You just had hours to yourself," Watson sounded hurt as he spoke.

Without another word, Holmes put on his top hat and left.

An hour passed and Watson was growing more and more worried. It was nearing 6:00; Watson could only hope that Holmes had tried to stay from trouble.

"Holmes?" Watson called out when he heard stumbling on the steps.

The door opened to reveal the detective a little worse for wear. He unsteadily hung up his hat and coat, making his way to the sofa.

"Holmes?" Watson repeated. "Are you drunk?"

"Yesh," was the slurred reply.

"Well, why?"

"You should know why one gets drunk – no matter who the one is."

"You've never turned to drink before, please tell me what's wrong."

Holmes shook his head. Tears formed in the poor man's eyes. If only Watson knew what was wrong then maybe he could have provided the right comfort but the best he could do was pull the younger man into an embrace. He could feel hot tears on his neck as Holmes let out the emotional pain he had been trying so hard to keep locked up.

"I know you didn't only go to a pub. Where were you?" Another shake of the head.

"Why won't you tell me? Do you not trust me?" And another shake.

Watson pulled away and took a good, long look at Holmes – whom was hiccupping quite frequently. He took in the gaunt features; the bloodshot eyes, the pale face, and the tears drying on his cheeks. He handed Holmes his handkerchief, which was gratefully accepted, and poured him a glass of water.

"I do -" hiccup. "Apologize," Holmes took the offered water after another hiccup.

"There's no need to," Watson said softly.

Holmes finished the water, banishing the insulting hiccups from his chest. He gave both the handkerchief and the glass back to Watson.

"You look exhausted, Holmes."

"I feel exhausted."

Watson stood up and fetched an afghan, telling Holmes to stretch out on the sofa. He was asleep almost immediately with Watson tucking the blanket around him.

_Whatever has gotten you this way?_ Watson thought. He knew that there was only one way to figure it out if Holmes wouldn't tell him himself. And that was Mycroft Holmes.

**A/N: Brother Mycroft knows all. So, how was it? Good, pretty good, or did it make no sense to anyone? I'm pretty tired and writing about a tired Holmes isn't helping… so... to bed!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews and story alerts! I love you guys! :D This is for my good friend, Master of All Imagination. P. S Sorry it took so long. You know, school and all that.**

"_**You know what's important? Who would you die for? Who would you wake up at 5:45 in the morning even though you don't even know why he needs you? Whose drunken nose would you pick?"**_

_**John Green**_

_**Will Grayson, Will Grayson**_

"_**I feel like my life is so scattered right now. Like it's all these small pieces of paper and someone's turned on the fan. But talking to you makes me feel like the fan has been turned off for a little bit, like things could actually make sense. You completely unscatter me and I appreciate that so much."**_

_**David Levithan, **_

_**Will Grayson, Will Grayson**_

With specific instructions to Mrs. Hudson Watson was out the door and heading to Pall Mall, hoping Mycroft was still at The Diogenes Club. Thankfully, he was.

"Please, is there anything you can do?" Watson nearly begged.

"I'm afraid there is not, Sherlock will come around soon. I have always found patience works the best with that boy," Mycroft responded.

"Are you sure?"

"Quite so; he would throw fits all the time as a child. He would sulk in his room one day and annoy us all to no ends with his hyperactivity the next."

"But I fear this will rest upon him for a lot longer," he sighed, falling heavily into a chair.

Mycroft gave him a sympathetic look. "Doctor, I don't enjoy telling you my brother's personal history."

"It will do him good."

"I fear not."

"What is there to be harmed?" Watson asked raising his voice.

"His pride," Mycroft snapped. "And I will not be the one to do so. When he is willing to tell you he will."

Watson rose quietly from his chair and slowly made his way to the door but stopped at the threshold. He turned around and began speaking softly.

"And do you believe that his pride has not already been damaged? He was crying on my shoulder – drunk!"

Mycroft's shoulders slumped. "Fine, sit down and I will tell you."

Within seconds Watson was sitting back down.

"When Sherlock was younger he had a friend, Susan. At first, he was forced to play with her by our mother but soon he noticed that she wasn't like the other kids he knew. Only being 7 at the time Sherlock was rejected many times for his talents but Susan was amazed. Instead of scowling at him or calling him names she made him teach her everything he knew. She couldn't quite grasp it at first but Sherlock wouldn't get angry at her. I never knew why his attitude changed so much around her; he actually liked her. Very much. So much that they had regularly scheduled play dates until adolescence and Sherlock became more interested in her. It wasn't anyone else within the sex, only her.

"When they were merely 18 they had already agreed to go to the same university together before they were both expelled after two years - it's a long story. Susan's parents weren't pleased with her and blamed Sherlock for her being expelled. They shut her out of their lives so Sherlock married her. They eloped the same week they were expelled. Everyone thought they were the most unusual yet perfect couple for quite some time.

"The second year into the marriage Sherlock had already met the inspectors at the yard and was working with them regularly. I don't believe you have heard of Harold Spencer? No, well, he was a murderer and Sherlock was working day and night on this case. Susan was trying her best to help him but he wished for her not to get into that case. Week after week women were being found dead and everyone's patience was getting thin. Clients would snap at the inspectors, the inspectors would snap at Sherlock, and Sherlock would snap at Susan. The poor girl was yelled at so much in one day that she stormed off in the middle of the day - yes, I can tell you know how this story will end. In the evening she had not yet returned so Sherlock went looking for her. He did find her. She was dead in an alley from Spencer.

A day later Sherlock managed to find the man. Spencer was scheduled to be executed only to disappear 3 days before his hanging. Now, yesterday Scotland Yard told my brother that Spencer had been spotted somewhere within London."

Have you ever had that feeling where you don't want to believe what you just heard but you still do? As though you wanted to say "that's a nice joke!" and laugh but you know that's it's not the time to. You want to just scoff and cry at the same time. That's how Watson felt at that moment. There were many things wrong with Mycroft's story. He couldn't even picture a young Holmes showing compassion to anyone.

"What do I do?" Watson asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

"Nothing, I'm sorry, but he will get over her death one day."

I knew that Mycroft was wrong. You never get over a loss like that. You get used to it but you never get over it.*

***Jeremy Brett quote! He said this after the death of his wife.**

**Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review!**


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